


i miss (the catch in my throat)

by troubledsouls



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: M/M, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 21:39:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17588924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troubledsouls/pseuds/troubledsouls
Summary: They dare to dream.





	i miss (the catch in my throat)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flightlessnerds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightlessnerds/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Nine Lives](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15948425) by [flightlessnerds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightlessnerds/pseuds/flightlessnerds). 



> i asked on tumblr if anyone would read this, and bo said “YES! YES! YES!” so heres my clancy ramblings. i hope this makes sense
> 
> read nine lives first bc a) its amazing and b) this will make zero sense without it
> 
> title from [nocturne](https://youtu.be/0lpg6vRAqoE)

It’s not allowed.

They’re not allowed to feel this way, about who they are and who they love, so they cut their hair short and hide their makeup and don’t let themself feel it. 

They still do, though, deep in every part of who they are. They can’t hide it forever. Their mother won’t let them hide it forever. 

Inside of Dema, inside of the Deprogramming Matrix, everything feels hopeless. They write about their hopelessness, how much they feel trapped, how much they crave escape. They fill the journal they got from somewhere they can’t remember. 

There’s someone there that they feel like they should know so, so well. He speaks and it sounds like sunlight. He smiles and it shines like freedom. He exists and it feels like hope. 

His name is Alex, and he calls them Clancy, and they know that’s their name like they know they love him. 

Alex speaks of rebellion, of leaving, of decorating them in the same earth greens and yellow stripes, of the two of them not having to feel afraid anymore. 

They don’t want to feel afraid. 

Leaving doesn’t work. They just find themself back in Dema, with the timer reset. They only know they’ve been here before because their journal sits on the desk, filled with writing. 

They tear out all the pages about Alex. They don’t visit him in the dark alley beside their building. They follow the rules and the curfews. 

They don’t want to follow the rules and curfews. They meet Alex in the alley, and after two weeks they escape again, with the banditos and torches and yellow tape. 

It doesn’t matter. 

Third time’s the charm. 

This time they wait. They skip worship and cuddle with Alex in their room and listen to him call them Clancy, the name they’re not allowed to have. He holds them and kisses them and they love, love, love him. They love him. 

Third time is not the charm. 

They write page after page about him in their journal and then rip the pages out. 

They start seeing someone else, flickering in and out of existence around them. Brown hair, beautiful brown eyes, black tattoos adorning his arms. They would be in love with him, in another life, if Alex were not there taking up most of their brainwaves.

The stranger that keeps appearing and disappearing speaks of creation, of heartbreak, of solace in the places that are not Dema, of safety in the arms of those you love. They don’t know whether to believe him or not.

They don’t tell Alex about the stranger.

Not leaving is hard. They know that it hasn’t worked yet, but Alex speaks in such safe tones that they can’t help but believe him, can’t help but believe that maybe this time, they’ll get out.

Alex calls them Clancy. How could they not believe him?

They wake up in Dema with the timer reset, and they scratch a fifth tally mark into the cover of their journal. 

The stranger appears again. They finally ask him his name, and he falls quiet for once as he thinks of it. 

He eventually settles on Tyler, but the way he says it sounds more like an afterthought than a name.

Tyler. They try the name aloud, and Tyler nods and seems more sure of himself. 

He asks them their name. 

They tell him Clancy. It’s not the name that they’re supposed to have, not the name they’re supposed to use, but it feels more theirs than anything else. 

Tyler flickers in and out around them, and he never stops speaking. He talks about life inside these walls, about the monotony of dema. He talks about someone named Josh. 

They ask him if Josh is worth starting all over again. 

He doesn’t understand. They don’t press the issue. 

They make it to two hundred and seventeen days, the longest they’ve ever stayed, before they give in to Alex’s words and follow him and the other banditos out of Dema.

The world stops and goes white, then black, and then they wake up back in their room, inside of the walls of the city. 

They scratch a sixth tally mark into the cover of their journal. 

Maybe it isn’t worth it. Maybe Alex isn’t worth it. He never remembers the other times they’ve been here, the other times that they’ve fallen for each other. 

It’s Tyler’s rambles about Josh that keep them going, that remind them that maybe their love and identity is worth it. 

They try and write about their feelings, but the words don’t come out right, so they tear out the page and write instead about how much they hate it here, trapped in this city, trapped in the same cycle day after day. 

Every day, they go to worship and try and make sense of their feelings. 

Every night, Alex slips into their room and holds them and pets their hair and calls them Clancy and tells them he loves them. 

They dare to dream of a life where that can happen all the time. 

Sixth time isn’t the charm either. They scratch a seventh tally mark into their journal. 

Then an eighth. 

Then a ninth. 

It’s not worth it. Alex isn’t worth it. Being called Clancy isn’t worth nine years in Dema, isn’t worth the possibility of nine more, isn’t worth the frustration and hopelessness that they feel every time the countdown to Glorification resets. 

They go to worship. They go to work. They go to meals. They stay in their room and sleep. 

At one hundred and seventy three days, Alex slips into their room while it’s raining. He crawls under the covers of their bed and wraps his arms around them. The simple action, the reassurance that he is remembering at least something, is enough to make them cry. 

He calls them Clancy. _He calls them Clancy._

They don’t give in. 

Even Tyler goes quiet near the end. 

They follow the other Unglorifieds to the central tower. They sit inside and face the altar. They get up and take Keons’s hand when he reaches for them. They let themself get lead up to the altar. 

Their family is there. Their mother is there.

She smiles at them and tells them she’s proud of them, that they won’t have to feel this way anymore. 

Something inside them bucks and kicks and rebels, but it’s too late. 

Keons’s hands touch their neck, and everything goes white. 

He wakes up in a white room, wires and tubes and machines and people all around him. There’s a sense of calm in his brain, and it’s the only thing that keeps him from panicking. 

A doctor leans over him and calls him a name that doesn’t fully process in his brain. It’s his, he knows it’s his, but some part of it feels wrong. 

He’s detached from various needles and pads, and someone with a gentle voice helps him sit up. She’s all smiles and reassurances, and she says something about success, and she asks him how he feels and all he can say is that he feels tired. 

She helps him walk with steady hands on his torso and says that the suppressors wear off quicker if ‘it’ works. He’s too tired to ask what ‘it’ is. 

She takes him to a different room with a bed and helps him lie down, then says that his mother will be there in a moment. 

He wants to sleep, craves giving into the exhaustion that weighs in his very bones, but something feels so so wrong inside his heart. 

His mother comes in, and over the next hour or so the feeling subsides, until he feels more settled and comfortable in his skin. 

Eventually, they’re allowed to leave. His mother guides him and calls him that name that skitters across his skin. 

Someone runs up to him and calls him Clancy, and he turns half on instinct. The name of the stranger rises on his tongue, and he listens to the words the man says without comprehending them. 

His mother pulls him away, and he turns towards the exit. 

He doesn’t look back.

**Author's Note:**

> clancy :c
> 
> tumblr: [nonbinaryclancy](http://nonbinaryclancy.tumblr.com)


End file.
